


Silence

by Hinalilly



Series: Hina's Cheesy Rinharu Week Oneshots [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Be Careful What You Wish For, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Feels, M/M, Rinharu Week, absence makes the heart grow fonder, departure, what sort of sight are you seeing now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinalilly/pseuds/Hinalilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Haruka’s peaceful days get crushed by a loud redhead and his guitar, all Haruka wishes for is for him to shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 2 of Hina's "let's use all the prompts at once" Rinharu Week adventure!  
> I seem to have fallen in love with this silly idea that came out of nowhere. I hope you like it as much as I do!

 

Haruka didn’t remember when it had all began. Maybe it was when he used to visit his grandmother while she was still alive, or maybe when he had decided to visit Serizawa after his eye surgery, or maybe when he had accompanied Makoto to pay Kisumi a visit after he had sprained his wrist during a game. It didn’t feel like there had been a specific moment in time when he’d started stopping by the hospital regularly, and since he didn’t really look like the type of person who would go out of his way to volunteer, even, people always asked him about what had motivated him to start doing it. Haruka had no immediate answer for them. If he had to guess, he could say it had started that one time when he had taken Ren there in a sudden trip to get a shot after he’d been bitten by a stray dog while playing in the park. Ren had been very frightened and crying non-stop, and the sight of the syringe had sent him almost into a tantrum, clinging to Haruka and refusing to stay still. Haruka wasn’t good with children, but Ren’s tears had begun upsetting the other kids waiting to be tended to, as well, so Haruka had taken it upon himself to make sure the boy calmed down enough for the doctors to be able to help him. He didn’t remember exactly how he had managed it. His memory seemed to favor the vague idea of him perhaps having made up a story on the go—but with all the stories he had in tow now, Haruka couldn’t help it if he didn’t recall the specifics. Whatever the case may have been, Haruka had inadvertently succeeded in capturing not only Ren’s attention but also that of the other kids in the waiting line as well, and to those closest to him it was doubtlessly this event that marked the start of Haruka’s days as a volunteer in the Pediatrics ward of Iwatobi Hospital.

Haruka would’ve never said he was good with kids, but it was surprisingly easy to keep them entertained. He didn’t take on any set tasks nor interfered with the work of the doctors and the nurses; he simply stopped by like any visitor would, but instead of asking for a specific room or a specific person, the subject of his visits were always “the children.” Iwatobi was a small town, and Haruka had been stopping by the hospital for several reasons since he had been very little, so even before he had begun his regular visits, practically the entire workforce knew who he was. At 17 years old, Haruka regularly walked into the Pediatrics wing with his serious expression and his lack of a smile, a stack of blank pages or a few books or a couple of homemade (strangely weird and totally uncute) puppets in tow. Haruka would’ve never said he was good with kids, but the kids loved him, always looking forward to his visits and complaining when he didn’t come over as often during exam periods, or begging him to change the ending of a certain story or to tell it from a different character’s point of view. They looked at him with curiosity and admiration alike, their little mouths hanging open as he helped them with a particularly difficult section of a coloring book, gasping and laughing at the ridiculous plot twists of the stories he made up for them (and laughing even more at how Haruka still looked completely serious while describing a huge, fully-armed, unmanned mackerel mecha which served as the ancient protector of some random fictional country). They all had come to love the whimsical but also hard-working Loosey-kun, Haruka’s favorite puppet character, and they cheered him on throughout his undersea adventures, always eager to teach him more of the human world and answer whatever questions he had about it. Haruka made flower arrangements for every room, he braided the kids’ hair with cute little ribbons and hairclips and sneaked the latest comic books in, and whenever cleared by the doctors he would carry out a lengthy nail art session, after which all the kids’ and sometimes even a few nurses’ hands and feet ended up splashed with the most clashing and hilariously vivid combinations of color. He didn’t really have a set routine, and he didn’t think much of it in advance (or so he would often say, even if that Loosey-kun puppet alone had taken around 3 days to make), and while it was clear his visits were looked forward to, he wasn’t really required to nor obliged to keep a steady schedule. Therefore, Haruka took leisure in it, showing up whenever he felt like it and with whatever he felt like taking along with him. (He totally didn’t indulge the kids when they asked him for a particular activity or story for his next visit. Whoever said that was lying.)

People often smiled at him for what a nice thing he was doing, but Haruka didn’t really see it that way. He didn’t mind it, he had plenty of free time and an otherwise empty house he didn’t really feel like going back to on most days, plus he could stop whenever he wanted to, so he didn’t consider his actions were anything worthy of praise. It still baffled others from time to time when, upon being assumed to love children in general, Haruka would reply with a quiet “not really.” To him, it just seemed like a mutually beneficial relationship between someone who needed a place to spend a large part of his free time at, and a group of children who were stuck in one place with little to no sources of entertainment and parents who were usually too busy working to pay off the hospital bills to visit them. Haruka wouldn’t have said it was a place that had somehow become his own or anything like that, as there wasn’t any sort of contract or promise or attachment binding him to it.

Which was what made Haruka’s irrational frustration when Matsuoka Rin stepped into the picture all the more annoying.

Haruka couldn’t stand Matsuoka. Where Haruka was quiet, calm, and serious, Matsuoka was boisterous, loud, and carefree. A fairly recently-discovered indie musician on a skyrocketing rise to fame, he’d show up with his acoustic guitar in tow, unannounced and whenever he felt like it, disregarding the quiet of the hospital and turning the Pediatrics ward upside down with his cheerful tunes and his vibrant voice. He’d act of his own accord, making the day impossibly harder for Haruka and anyone else who wished to simply come and go from the hospital without having to traverse through a mob of paparazzi, for anyone who wished to remain anonymous and had no desire to make any comment about what transpired behind the hospital walls, who just wished to do what they had come to do and then go back home in peace. Matsuoka had no regard for others, and he seemed to think that his smiles and his compliments and his constant invitations to have a drink together would automatically excuse his selfish behavior.

But that wasn’t what always managed to set off Haruka’s silent anger without failure.

Matsuoka sang about dreams.

His voice reverberated through the corridors to the strumming of guitar strings, singing about far-off places and endless possibilities and the unbeatable power of one’s conviction and one’s heart. His songs spoke about unimaginable sights, about broadening his horizons and finding his place in the world.

Haruka _hated_ every single note.

What good could it possibly do for those children, most bedridden and some afflicted with terminal illnesses, even, to hear about dreams and impossible feats they would probably never be able to accomplish? Matsuoka had no right, no right at _all_ , to come waltzing into their lives bringing all sorts of wonders and sights to be seen under his arms, much less so when he himself was free to go out and make all of it happen, unlike others. For the sake of publicity, a positive public image, or for whatever other selfish and hollow reason he had for it, Matsuoka kept coming over to fill the children’s heads with all the things that their lives were denying them of, making them smile and clap along to what they themselves, in most cases, couldn’t possibly make come true.

But that wasn’t all. Haruka wouldn’t be as petty to hold a grudge against a guy who couldn’t seem to shut up and said too much and too much of the wrong things for his own good.

Matsuoka had the gall to approach Haruka and ask him to _join in_.

Haruka was appalled by it all. He couldn’t understand how Matsuoka couldn’t _see_ the evident displeasure Haruka felt towards him, nor could he guess what possible motive Matsuoka could have for wanting Haruka to work together with him at all. He seemed oblivious to Haruka’s dislike for his enchanting voice and his lovely tunes, and seemed to be unable to register the amount of times that Haruka pretended not to hear him calling out to him or downright refused his invitations for a cup of coffee after visiting hours ended. As if Haruka would want to walk side by side with Matsuoka as the camera flashes followed him around town like persistent, unkillable leeches. Besides, Haruka wasn’t anyone special, so Matsuoka’s insistence in establishing an amicable relationship with him was frankly rather confusing and a little bit ( _very_ ) annoying.

 

It was easier than Haruka had initially thought to stop paying mind to the songs themselves, and the sound of Matsuoka’s voice and his guitar quickly became the background music for a regular day in the Pediatrics wing. But Matsuoka seemed to never run out of ways to annoy him, and it grated on Haruka’s nerves whenever he stopped playing, arms crossed over his guitar and chin propped on them with a big smile on his face, as he sat with the kids to listen to Haruka’s stories or to watch him draw. Haruka never got more tongue-tied nor made more mistakes nor colored outside of the lines more often than when Matsuoka was watching him. It was irritating to see him sitting there, his smile growing bigger and bigger the more flustered Haruka became, and Haruka eventually came to the infallible conclusion that Matsuoka was out to get him. Haruka did his best to avoid him and sneak through the corridors unnoticed, but for whatever unknown reason (he was probably just very, very unlucky), Matsuoka always seemed to find him, his voice ringing “Haru!” through the entire hospital with no regard for anyone around him, nor for Haruka himself.

Haruka couldn’t stand him, so that’s why he had expected to feel a bit of relief, at least, when Matsuoka suddenly left for his first tour.

But Haruka didn’t feel relieved in the least. Instead, he felt even more frustrated and annoyed, angry at Matsuoka who had suddenly up and left without any warning or explanation, leaving the kids waiting for him with questions that Haruka couldn’t answer, and which he only fully understood when he caught mention of Matsuoka’s short tour on the news. How inconsiderate could one person be? Haruka seethed in silence, the corridors of the hospital perfectly quiet again, and it was once again up to him and him alone to keep the kids cheerful, uncertain of how to act or what to say when the kids asked when “Rin-chan” was coming back or, worse, when, in his absence, they expected _Haruka_ to sing in his stead.

Nanase Haruka didn’t sing. But, naturally, Matsuoka hadn’t taken that into account when he’d left Haruka on his own with a group of sickly kids who had grown to love his music.

And Haruka was probably damned because the unwanted exposure had left him with the ability to recite each and every one of Matsuoka’s lyrics to a t. Thankfully, he possessed no guitar-playing abilities to go with them, so the requests were never fulfilled.

 

* * *

 

If Matsuoka had been annoying and oblivious when he left, he was even _worse_ when he returned.

His eyes shone like he’d seen all the imaginable _and_ unimaginable wonders of the entire world, and he just _wouldn_ _’_ _t. shut. up._ about any of it. Haruka already knew (he hadn’t mastered the ability to block him out fast enough, sadly) that Matsuoka had chosen his path in life not just for the music he loved, but also for the prospect of travelling around the world, of finding that one place and seeing that one sight that would make his skin tingle and his heart burst in one single moment of complete bliss. He was a hopeless romantic from head to toe, and with the recently finished tour having been the first step towards realizing that dream, Haruka could only wish he would have accepted Matsuoka’s offer to work on the puppet shows together before, _just_ so he could give him a part which was completely silent.

That was the first thing Haruka did as soon Matsuoka eventually (as expected) brought the topic up.

Haruka felt the relief he had been yearning for _at last_ , as he sat telling his stories and playing his puppets’ parts, while Matsuoka sat beside him switching through different drawings or handling the other, blissfully silent, puppet part. He pouted a lot at first, and complained to Haruka for hogging the best parts of the show, but he soon took to making weird faces to go with Haruka’s words that made the kids laugh, throwing Haruka off balance in turn, and making the kids laugh even more. There was nothing else Haruka could do but sigh and turn his gaze away, ignoring Matsuoka and every single one of his goofy faces, and he eventually came to the conclusion that there was no definite win scenario when it came to him.

Matsuoka didn’t stop insisting for Haruka to join him for coffee, but the thought of being able to force him into a complete and joyous quiet whenever he wanted to was enough compensation for Haruka that he didn't mind indulging him every now and then (which helped shut Matsuoka up on the coffee subject for a few days, too). The strange “temporary win” scenario into which they’d found their way into was peaceful enough for Haruka to forget his displeasure for a while and relax again.

He’d never anticipated, however, the hell upon Earth that the entire situation would become when the kids asked him to sing again, this time, in Matsuoka’s presence. Without the otherwise infallible excuse of his lack of guitar-playing skills to back him up, Haruka was left with little choice but to mumble a song with Matsuoka playing cheerfully at his side, urging him to sing a little louder with his eyes and his grin and that stupid, annoying _something_ that always got him what he wanted in the end.

That gave Matsuoka yet another thing not to shut up about. Nanase Haruka didn’t sing, but Matsuoka seemed not to have registered that notion, either. He kept talking to Haruka about everything that Haruka already knew by heart through his songs, about dreams and seeing the world and about bringing happiness to others (no, Haruka wasn’t cut out for that; he wasn’t doing this entirely for the kids, he had his selfish reasons as well, so that wasn’t something he thought himself capable of doing), and, worst of all, he would ever so often let slip a comment on how wonderful it would be to do all of that _together_. Haruka still couldn’t forget how wide his own eyes had shot open upon registering that ridiculous idea for the first time. He also clearly remembered how he’d practically jumped up from the plastic chair he had been occupying only moments before and quickly rushed out of Matsuoka’s sight with a rotund negative. He’d forgotten all about the coffee, and it had been cold when he’d finally arrived back home.

 

Haruka avoided Matsuoka even more relentlessly after that, but Matsuoka wasn’t one to give up easily (Haruka would know; he _did_ know all of his lyrics by heart, after all). While the topic of togetherness or whatever the hell that had been had not been brought up again, Matsuoka still liked matching Haruka’s pace, walking beside him, hooking an arm over his shoulder and chatting Haruka’s ear off as they headed over to see the kids. It came to a point when Haruka didn’t even bother trying to shake him off his personal space any more. Once Matsuoka succeeded in finding him, Haruka simply sighed, and prayed for the next blessed moment of complete silence to come soon.

 

Haruka had heard the phrase “be careful what you wish for” many times, but it wasn’t until Matsuoka left unannounced for the second time that Haruka truly understood its meaning.

 

First came the lack of the loud cries of “Haru!” through the corridors, then the unusual ease with which Haruka managed to avoid crossing paths with Matsuoka. Then came the children’s questions, and it was by this point that Haruka realized Matsuoka had neglected to mention his next leave again. (Haruka wondered, as pointless as it was, if it had perhaps been mentioned in passing in one of the many conversations that Matsuoka had initiated with him, and which Haruka had automatically tuned out.) Then came the confirmation, as Haruka already knew what to look for, that Matsuoka Rin was, indeed, on tour again, this time of a much larger scale and, therefore, implying a longer absence from the hospital. After that came the lack of music in the Pediatrics wing, the children once again begging Haruka to sing for them, situation which Haruka thought could be solved by purchasing a copy of Matsuoka’s latest album and putting it on instead—unfortunately Haruka had no idea that said album was less on the acoustic and more on the distortion guitars side, and as soon as he heard the first riffs in the quiet of his bedroom he immediately crossed that possibility out, shoving the album into the bottom-most corner of his closet and hoping to forget about it. The questions and the requests continued, but admittedly Haruka wasn’t the best at keeping up with trends or show business or any other piece of news that weren’t the weather forecast nor the select few cooking programs he watched on occasion, so he did his best to keep the children’s spirits high while avoiding the answers he obviously couldn’t give them. Haruka wasn’t one to give the children false hope; if he didn’t know something, he would say so clearly, but somehow he still found himself always answering the ever-present question of “when is Rin-chan coming back” with a resolute “soon.”

 

Matsuoka did come back soon, but it wasn’t the cocky and triumphant return that Haruka had imagined, and he wished he’d been a little more specific with his answers and his wishes this time around.

It was a nurse that hinted it to him in passing, asking him not to share the news with the children, assuming that Haruka had any idea of what she was referring to. But Haruka wasn’t the best at keeping up with the latest news, and so a few days later he found himself in a state frighteningly similar to one of shock as he stood alone in a hospital room with Matsuoka lying (almost) soundlessly in bed.

 

A road accident, the gossip among the hospital workers said. A toppled tour bus. A few band members and technicians with varying degrees of injuries.

Matsuoka in a coma.

The press release stated that Matsuoka’s relatives had requested the transfer, in hopes of keeping him close to his hometown should the worst come to pass.

(“Should the worst come to pass.”)

Haruka felt nauseous at the very thought.

Matsuoka would come back soon, Haruka kept telling the children who asked, no longer sure who exactly he was trying to cheer up with those words, as the room where Matsuoka slept remained in complete quiet, save for the constant beeping of the machines connected to him.

 

The corridors were completely devoid of music now, and Haruka kept trying to figure out how on earth could he have ever found that notion pleasant enough to wish for it in the first place.

 

Each day at the hospital, Haruka turned at the exact corner at which Matsuoka would usually ambush him, almost expecting him to jump at him at any minute (Haruka wasn’t very good at avoiding Matsuoka). Every day, he walked alone, missing the weight of Matsuoka’s arm on his shoulder (Haruka wasn’t very good at shaking Matsuoka off, either). He sat with the children, telling them stories and drawing and putting on his puppet show, and every day he would unexpectedly catch himself turning his gaze to the side, towards the empty spot where he somehow expected Matsuoka to magically be at (Haruka was also not very good at ignoring Matsuoka, after all). Every day, Haruka would walk past the coffee machine, and wonder if, perhaps, Matsuoka was opening his eyes with a loud groan at that very moment, right when visiting hours ended, just to piss him off.

(Haruka wasn’t very good at pretending he wanted Matsuoka to stay silent, really.)

But Haruka wasn’t a doctor or a nurse, nor did he have any medical knowledge whatsoever, so there was nothing he could do to ensure Matsuoka’s recovery. He could do nothing but show up every now and then, when he was certain neither Matsuoka’s family nor any snooping paparazzi were around, to peek into Matsuoka’s room, only to see everything unchanged since the last time he’d been there. He could do nothing but stand at the door, on the inside once he was brave enough to, in complete silence, just like Matsuoka himself. There were no “soon”s he could offer, no words of encouragement he could say, no talk of sights nor far-off places he could strike with someone whose eyes might very well remain permanently closed.

 

There was one thing Haruka was apparently good at, though. And that was keeping bedridden people entertained.

 

There was barely anything Haruka could hope to accomplish by it, but he still grabbed his stacks of paper and his drawings and his puppets and went over the stories in his head, fishing for the ones Matsuoka hadn’t heard yet, and busied himself with expanding their settings, coming up with more vivid and detailed descriptions and characters and plots like nothing Matsuoka could’ve ever hoped for. He worked in silence, hunched on a chair beside Matsuoka’s bed, squeezing every single minute until he had to inevitable go back home, where he kept working still. From the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep, Haruka built entire worlds for Matsuoka to explore, making sure every single patch of grass or speck of dirt was wondrous and dream-like. And, each time one was ready, he began working on the next.

Haruka found himself breaking the silence out of his own accord for the first time, filling the void that Matsuoka had left, with his stories, all carefully illustrated and accompanied by his very trusted puppets. It was a futile effort, most likely, but Haruka still made sure to retell every single adventure just as if Matsuoka’s intense stare and his huge grin were fixed on him like they always were, asking him questions just as eagerly as the children did, begging him for the next part or pouting when his character suddenly went quiet or had his latest epic battle cut short. Haruka shared his stories every day, both with the children and later with Matsuoka himself, enlisting the help of Loosey-kun to make sure that the budding hero RinRin didn’t get lost along the way, and sometimes stopping to draw a particularly important object or monster in it for an added effect. While the children’s responses were more positive than ever (Haruka kept telling them “soon” every time), he couldn’t help but linger a little bit longer on Matsuoka’s peaceful expression after he finished the particular section of his tale for the day.

(Haruka kept telling himself “soon” every time, as well.)

He often wondered what it was like, and on occasion he would even find himself asking it out loud as he stared at Matsuoka’s sleeping figure. Haruka imagined the sights that the silly hero was seeing in his dreams must be good enough for him not to want to wake up at all. He wondered, as he fixed the pillow beneath Matsuoka’s head, or that one day when he trimmed his bangs a little after they’d gotten too long (a moment that turned slightly awkward when Matsuoka’s family just happened to drop by, but thankfully Haruka found that, not only was Matsuoka’s family very amiable, but also Matsuoka had done his fair share of talking about him before the accident, so not even an introduction was needed), if perhaps Matsuoka had actually found his way into the worlds Haruka had built for him, fighting demons and saving princesses and finding treasure adrift at sea. He wondered if Matsuoka would come back after he grew tired of dreaming, or if he perhaps would leave for good, in search for more adventure, as soon as he ran out of places to explore.

Haruka began making a story up on the go as soon as the last carefully-constructed tale he had brought with him came to an end. Matsuoka hadn’t woken up yet, after all, but he hadn’t left, either, so Haruka decided that, as long as he had a working voice to communicate with, he would keep making stories for him. It was natural that he’d hit a wall more often than not, in which cases the children’s requests to backtrack or change the perspective of the story became of surprising use.

It was on the day that Haruka accidentally finished his story right in the brink of time, just as he was supposed to leave for the day, that he first sang.

It was slightly pitchy, and quiet, and much too burdened with stupid emotions to be any good, but perhaps the way in which Haruka had so masterfully butchered his song would cause Matsuoka to finally wake up in a rage.

That obviously didn’t happen, but Haruka still sang from time to time, when he felt too tired and drained to come up with anything new, when he felt like it was pointless to keep trying to bring some sound back into the room, when he wanted to call Matsuoka stupid for filling his head with possibilities and ideas of making unreachable dreams real and then leaving him behind in the process of chasing his own. He wanted to call Matsuoka stupid for getting so caught up in searching for that special sight that he’d forgotten he was supposed to be waking up, instead. But Haruka was also stupid, for thinking it all annoying and frustrating and not realizing how much he’d miss it when it was gone.

Haruka had wished for silence, but now all he wanted was to hear Matsuoka’s voice again.

After growing tired of listening to himself singing songs that never seemed to sound quite right in his voice, Haruka unearthed the album he’d purchased months ago, and even through the aggressive guitar solos and the strong rock ballads, Haruka managed to find relief in being able to pick out Matsuoka’s distinctive nuances from the music, the way in which he pronounced each consonant and vowel, and how his voice rumbled slightly from time to time as if it was directly connected with the very depths of his soul. On occasion, he’d let himself be lulled to sleep by the powerful music, and yet, Haruka avoided listening to it too often, putting the album away where he couldn’t find it, and switching channels as soon as Matsuoka’s music came through the speakers.

Matsuoka’s more popular, commercial songs weren’t the ones Haruka wanted to hear. Those weren’t the songs that belonged to him and to the children at the hospital. He still knew them all by heart, but Haruka didn’t want to accidentally forget, either. He’d find himself turning his gaze to the side more often than ever, hoping Matsuoka would one day surprise him by being there, smiling at him like he used to, calling his name and saying something ridiculous and silly that Haruka would try his best to ignore.

 

Haruka wished, with all his heart, that one day it would finally be Matsuoka’s own voice which broke the silence between them at last.

 

He spent so much time daydreaming about it, closing his eyes and recalling the sound of his name in Matsuoka’s voice in his head, picturing that crooked grin and the twinkle in those eyes and the warmth of that arm around his shoulder, that Matsuoka had time to call out to him not once but twice before Haruka realized he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Much like the day when they had first met, when Matsuoka had suddenly burst into the Pediatric wing with his grin and his guitar in tow, Haruka stared back at him in shock and disbelief, his expression softening almost immediately upon noticing the serene but genuinely happy smile on Matsuoka’s face, awake and alive and looking stupidly happy for someone who’d just spent a good several months unconscious.

Haruka didn’t ask for an explanation, or an apology, nor for Matsuoka’s current condition.

“Did you find the sight you were looking for?” was what he asked instead, his eyes fixed on Matsuoka while placing the pencil he had been drawing with until that moment flat on top of the paper on his lap.

“Yeah,” Matsuoka replied, barely lifting his head from the pillow, still smiling at Haruka with tired eyes. “I’m seeing it right now.”

A small part of Haruka wanted to throw the pencil over his head.

Instead, he looked down to his drawing of the silly hero RinRin, and then back up to Matsuoka, who was still awake and smiling at him, and Haruka could swear he felt his skin tingling and his heart burst at that very moment.

Matsuoka was evidently confused by Haruka’s reply, but Haruka wasn’t worried. He was sure that he would have more than enough time, and words, and songs, and smiles, to make his feelings clear.

“I found it too,” he said simply, calling for a nurse and then going back to work, with the peace of mind that it gave him to feel Matsuoka’s eyes on him again as he did, humming a tune in his head, in perfect silence.


End file.
